I am dying. There can be no mistake. The same lines of discoloration that heralded the demise of the others have now appeared on me, running from my knuckles to my wrist on my right side, from my knuckles all the way to my elbow on my left. On both sides, they are creeping slowly up my arms. Having witnessed the end of my two companions in this undertaking, I can have little doubt of what is waiting for me: the torment, the living decay, the insanity of remorse. For William and Anselm, the terrible process overtook them within five years of the beginning of our venture. Simple arithmetic killed them, as a little consideration might have told us that it would. I only am escaped alone to tell this because of a talent for deceit and a practiced way with women, and through the complicity of one who shall remain nameless lest his body be exhumed and cast out of holy ground.

It is all one now, however. What I had thought was deliverance has only been delay. It will not be long before the thing is fully upon me. There is no time left to satisfy the hunger of the stone. There would be no time, even if I had the spirit for it, which I no longer have.

Nor can I pray. I cannot unburden myself before the Lord. So great is the love of Christ that I fear He might forgive me. I could not abide that: it will take an eternity of damnation to cleanse my soul of these sins.

Instead, I make this addendum to my chronicle of Belham Abbey. I record what I cannot confess.

It is now almost forty years since the people of Belham burned the town’s Jews. It was done in the time of the first King Henry. The Jews had taken refuge in the abbey’s infirmary chapel as they had once before in past troubles. This time, however, the people were so enraged against them that even the law of sanctuary could not restrain them. Leaders of the mob bolted the chapel’s doors and hurled brands in through the windows, setting the building on fire.

Though most of the monks were at supper on the far side of the grounds, we were well aware of the disturbance. As the flames rose, I myself could hear the shouts of the men trapped within, the shrieking of the women, the children crying. It was, however, a long time before Anselm sent a novice to beat the board and summon us to help.